Turning Coupon-And-Off

, , , , | Working | March 29, 2018

(I receive a coupon by text message from a sandwich shop chain and stop into the location near my home to take advantage of the deal. The coupon says, “Any six-inch sandwich and drink for $4.” I order the sandwich, then go to the register where the employee behind the counter asks if I want a drink or chips with it. I reply:)

Me: “Yes, I have a coupon for a sandwich and drink for $4.”

Employee: “What size drink do you want?”

Me: “Usually, the coupon will say what size drink; is there a certain size?”

Employee: “No, it doesn’t say.”

Me: “In that case, I’ll have a large drink.”

(Why not? It’s the same price no matter what size.)

Employee: *pushes some buttons on the cash register and says* “That’ll be $5.54.”

Me: “No, the coupon says, ‘sandwich and drink for $4.’ I expected to pay $4, plus whatever sales tax, but certainly not that much.”

Employee: “Well, that coupon isn’t programmed in our register, so I don’t know what to do.”

Me: *getting a little annoyed, but staying polite* “Look: your company sent me this coupon, and I only came in here because of the coupon. Can’t you figure out how to ring it up?”

Employee: *gets exasperated and starts getting very defensive* “Well, the sandwich is $3.99, anyway, so the coupon doesn’t matter.”

(At this point, I’m thinking this should be easy. Just ring up the regular priced sandwich and a free drink, right? Nope, the employee still can’t figure it out. She turns to her coworker for help. The coworker tells her pretty much what I would have said: ring up the sandwich and make the drink free. The employee glares at me, pushes more buttons, and looks up and says:)

Employee: “Okay, that will be $3.”

(I hand her a $20 bill and she gives me $17 back. I return $1 to her and say:)

Me: “No, the coupon said $4, and that’s what I expected to pay.”

(I took my sandwich and drink and left. I have no idea how she came up with the $3, and I can’t help but wonder how much time her manager spent trying to cash out her register that night.)

A Sauce Of Confusion

, , , , , , | Working | March 15, 2018

(I go to a sandwich shop for lunch. There’s one girl making sandwiches alone, but luckily it isn’t busy, because this ensues:)

Me: “I’d like the regular chicken carbonara on wheat, please.”

Worker: “For here or to go?”

Me: “For here.”

(She starts making my sandwich.)

Worker: “I accidentally put ranch on it.”

(She then starts to put other toppings on it.)

Me: “Wait! I don’t like ranch!”

Worker: “Oh… I’ll just start a new one, then? Do you even want alfredo sauce?”

Me: “Yeah, that’s what comes on the sandwich.”

Worker: “And it’s to go?”

Me: “For here.”

Worker: “I thought you said to go.”

(My sandwich turned out as described by some miracle! I still can’t believe she was just going to try to sub alfredo for ranch, instead of just making the sandwich I asked for.)

It’s All In The Delivery Zone

, , , , , | Right | March 2, 2018

(The sandwich shop I work in during college is a chain famous for its speedy delivery. This means that the shop has a delivery radius; according to corporate, we can’t deliver outside that radius. I have been working there for about three months when this happens. The phone rings.)

Me: “[Sandwich Shop], how can I help you?”

Customer: “I’d like a [sandwich #1] with extra lettuce and no tomato, a [sandwich #2] with double meat, a bag of [flavor] chips…” *goes on with a very complicated order that involves several other sandwiches, all with modifications*

Me: “Okay, great. Can I have your address, please?”

Customer: “It’s [address].”

(As soon as she says this, I check it on the map above the phones and realize with a sinking feeling that she lives outside our delivery zone.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t deliver there.”


Me: “Ma’am, I’m not even qualified to cut bread. I have absolutely no say over our delivery zone.”

The Drive-Thru At Pride Rock

, , , , , | Working | March 2, 2018

(The sandwich shop I work at allows phone-in orders for pickup, which people usually order under just their first name. Occasionally, that causes some confusion, because when you got multiple orders under the same first name, you have orders under Michael, Michael 2, Michael P., Michael Smith, Mike from (Employment), etc. It isn’t uncommon to accidentally hand the wrong “Michael” bag to the wrong Michael, especially if they have similar orders. I start getting creative when I take phone orders.)

Customer: “…and my name is Michael. When will that be ready?”

Me: “Ooh, sorry, dude. I already have an order for a Michael, and I want to make sure your order doesn’t get confused. Do you like The Lion King?”

Customer: “Haha, yeah?”

Me: “Okay, cool! You want to be Simba? I’ll put you down as Simba. Your order will be ready in fifteen minutes, Simba!”

(Later, my boss walks by my queued-up orders and sees all of the names on the bags.)

Boss: “What is this?

Me: “What?”

Boss: “Lindsay… Tinkerbell… Michael… Frankenstein… Judy… Spartacus…”

Me: “I didn’t want multiples of the same name in my queue; that way we don’t make mistakes on the order.”

Boss: “Well, how is anyone supposed to know which order is whose?!”

(A customer approaches the counter:)

Customer: “Hakuna Matata! My name is Simba and I ordered a meatball sub for pick-up!”

Me: “’Sup, dude. You getting a drink and chips with that?”


Wendy Wouldn’t Have Put Up With It

, , , , | Right | February 5, 2018

(I recently dyed my hair a bright copper red. It’s pretty eye-catching, and I regularly get comments about how I work for the wrong chain because I look like the Wendy’s logo. Usually I just laugh, but this guy is something else. Note: I wear a nametag.)

Customer: “Hey, is your name Wendy?”

Me: *laughs a little* “Nope, afraid not.”

Customer: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yup. I’m 100% positive my name is [My Name]. Did you want your sandwich toasted?”

Customer: “Oh. Well, then, you should go work at Wendy’s!”

Me: *courtesy laughing* “I’m pretty happy here, actually. Sorry, was your sandwich toasted?”

(During this exchange, the line behind him is growing longer and longer, and the guy behind him has started tapping his feet.)

Customer: “But you can’t work here. You need to work at Wendy’s!”

Me: “Well, maybe one day. But right now, I work here. I’m sorry, sir, but I need to know if your sandwich is toasted or not.”

Customer: “But your hair is so red!”

(At this point I give up and assume he doesn’t want it toasted.)

Me: “What kind of veggies would you like?”

Customer: “Oh.” *gives list of veggies he wants* “You just look like Wendy. Oh, I wanted that toasted, though.”

(I had, by this point, put on all the vegetables. The worst part was that he came in and did more or less the same thing two more times! The fourth time he came in, I hid in the back and made my coworker deal with him. He still asked where the “Wendy’s girl” was.)

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